


prisoner of love and desire

by ilovepoptarts



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Based off a song, Blood, M/M, Unrequited Love, Violence, Yandere, sorta prose poetry?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 13:06:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovepoptarts/pseuds/ilovepoptarts
Summary: “A woman who has no luck is crying in front of luxury coffin.They say that a man who is loved by you will be cursed and end up dead.”





	prisoner of love and desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oymorozmoroz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oymorozmoroz/gifts).



> based off [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KVLZH3Mbebs)

_“A woman who has no luck is crying in front of luxury coffin.  
They say that a man who is loved by you will be cursed and end up dead.”_

A gardener for a wealthy family, he tends to the achromic tulips, prodding the soil around them to ensure the blossoms are getting enough water. The prince he serves, he’s cursed, they say. Whoever has the misfortune of receiving his love can be sure a terrible fate will soon follow. And yet, this prince still loves with his whole being, and there are no shortage of eligible bachelors willing to risk themselves for one with such striking blue eyes and soft, long tresses of silver hair.

The gardener is always there to comfort the prince after another one of these tragedies, approaching him as he lay, draped over yet another coffin, with one of those pallid blooms in hand. Privately, the gardener always thought he and the prince would be best together, after all, who was the one who knew best how to comfort the prince? But, as he had been confided in before, the prince preferred those with lighter hair, and brighter eyes, neither of which the gardener possessed. He has neither status nor wealth, and yet, he yearns for the affection of the man he cannot have. 

Every time, he believes that one will be the last, but the prince always finds another for himself, loving so purely even though he knows the outcome. A cycle of love, death, and those pale flowers that seems to never end, so many coffins now the gardener can’t keep them straight. 

This time is much the same, the prince smiling at his new flame, their fingers entwined, oblivious to the gardener, watching from a distance away. When the new suitor is long gone, and the prince weeps yet again next to a coffin, the gardener wonders as he offers another tulip, _do you realize that your fate is intended? But, there is something I don’t get._ The gardener comforts the prince yet again, caressing those slender hands as the prince’s tears soak his garb. _You cry and cry again, but you still won’t stop looking for another. Don’t you think it’s enough? Don’t you think it’s about time to give up?_ The unfortunate loss of love has been repeated, the cursed prince a prisoner of love and desire. 

Even though the gardener offers his eternal solace, the prince still turns his affections to others. Even when the cycle repeats again and again, the exchange of those pale tulips for tears marking the end of another companion lost, the prince moves to his next potential fatality. 

Seeing another courter next to the prince, the prince rips a tulip from the garden. Intending to breathe in the fragrance of the blossom, he lifts the bloom to his face, and instead his teeth sink into the silky petals. Watching as the prince seeks relief from the other, wanting to believe, this is the last one, filling his heart with replaceable love. 

_Oh, who would do such a thing...?  
… No, no… none would. It’s a curse, right?_

It’s always easy, finding the lovers the prince finds alone. They often linger by the tulips, the unblemished white of the petals drawing attention from most who visit. 

This one is no different, bending down on one knee to inhale the scent of the flowers. So distracted is he, that when the gardener places a hand on his shoulder, he has but a second to realize that the curse, it’s real, and here it is, bringing his sickle to his neck and taking away his breath. 

Having done away with another paramour, the gardener falls to his knees, a laugh bubbling from his lips. The sickle falls just a bit behind him, the glinting gardening tool stained with the wine colored fluid that also tint his gloves a deep burgundy. 

This time, the cycle changes. The prince, grown weary from the never ending departure of his suitors, refuses to let this one from his sight. He stands just behind the gardener, observing the wheezing giggles from the prostrate man. _Ah, so this is how it is._ He picks up the sullied gardening tool, letting it dangle from his hands. 

The gardener turns, having fallen silent. Meeting the prince’s gaze, he bows his head. _Hurry,_ his stance says. _If you want to reverse the curse, if you want it to end, make it so with your hands._

 

_Sitting next to a coffin, a smile upon his face, he laughs, silver locks reflecting the gentle sunlight. He lays a lurid, maroon tulip at the head of the coffin. Cursed, they say, so that anyone he loves will end up dead._


End file.
